


another weakness

by honeypottrap



Series: i don't wanna give it up [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Getting Together, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Secret Relationship, Soul Bond, but they're very aware of it, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 20:22:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13911480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeypottrap/pseuds/honeypottrap
Summary: “Wait, wait. Are youromancingme?”(Naz knows what it would come down to, if people picked sides. He’s the one in the compromising position, here, and besides -- everyone loves Mitch.)





	another weakness

**Author's Note:**

> Part one deals with the set-up. This is the fallout.
> 
> The entire concern is about the legitimacy of their feelings with regards to the magic of their soul bond. They consider it resolved, in the end, but **consent issues feature heavily as a theme**.
> 
> Note: Naz doesn't top with Mitch, because he believes it's a more significant form of sex (something I personally don't agree with)

Naz knows what he’s good for. He draws penalties, goes up against the rougher top lines so that theirs doesn’t have to-- talks shit and gets in their heads so Auston and his golden line of rookies can work their magic. And it works, but. What if he didn’t have to?

He’s not delusional. Naz knows he’s never going to be one of those 50 goals a season forwards, knows he’s never going to be the person thousands buy jerseys of, never be the person who’ll see his name up in the rafters.

But the concept of it, the small taste he’s getting? It’s easy to see how people can get lost in it.

\--

Sex with Mitch should be embarrassing, Naz thinks, considering he acts with about the same levels of ridiculousness even with his dick out.

“Time for your medicine.” Mitch prompts with a completely straight face, and Naz laughs so hard he cries.

“Holy shit,” He wheezes into Mitch’s flank when he finds his voice, still quivering, and Mitch snickers, still hard. “Never say that ever again. It’s not cute.”

“Hey! I’ll have you know I’m adorable. Everyone thinks so. Even you, I’d bet.” Mitch squawks, indignant and impossibly vain. Naz avoids responding by taking Mitch into his mouth, and as distractions go, it’s a pretty good one.

\--

It was probably too much to hope that the team would just never confront them about it.

Naz gets seen heading back to his own hotel room, and there’s no hiding where he’s been-- not with the way his clothes are rucked up.

“ _You’re fucking the kid?_ ”

\--

Patrick Marleau doesn’t trust him, which, point. Naz is basically fucking his adopted son or whatever. It’s not an ideal relationship to build chemistry off of, but it’s a low priority problem considering their line has never been better.

“I _love_ this!” Mitch crows gleefully after scoring during practice on a no-look pass from Naz. “We’re so awesome.”

“Fuckin’ right.” Naz agrees, holding out a fist to bump, and Mitch pulls him into a half hug instead before skating off to line back up for more drills. Marleau stops Naz before he can follow.

“As long as Mitch is happy.” He says, an unspoken threat behind his words, and Naz nods.

He has a feeling he’s not going to be invited to any family dinners any time soon, but it’s something.

\--

Matt Martin is a lot less forgiving.

“This better be a fucking joke.”

“It is what it is.” Naz bites back, tired of defending himself to people who just don’t _get it_. “Get over it.”

“Do you have any idea how twisted this looks? You’re _sick--_ ”

“Oh, yeah? What would _you_ do to get back in the lineup?” Naz interrupts, cold. “We all do what we have to. Don’t get all high and mighty just because you think you’re better. It’s not like we don’t know it’s ‘cause you want to fuck him yourself.”

Martin doesn’t punch him, but it’s a near thing.

\--

Later, Mitch takes one look at him and cancels his plans.

Mitch hasn’t been the one getting shit from the team, hasn’t been getting side eyes and second glances, but he must be more aware of it than Naz’d realized.

“I thought you had dinner with the Marleaus?” Naz says from where he’s resting his cheek on Mitch’s chest. Mitch’s ribs are hard, and it’s not comfortable, but Naz can hear his heartbeat, the soft sounds of Mitch’s breathing, and it’s strangely soothing.

Mitch makes a noncommittal noise. “I’ll go next week. It’s no big deal.”

Naz knows it is, but. He appreciates the lie.

\--

Mitch is getting surprisingly good at picking up on Naz’s moods, and recently it’s been less like just hooking up and more like friendship, if friends went down on each other on the regular. Mitch is the better driver, somehow, and ends up driving them to and from the rink, and with it comes his questionable music tastes.

“ _Again?_ ” Naz cackles, unable to hold it in after ‘Shut Up and Dance’ plays for the third time that week.

“Hey,” Mitch scowls, but Naz can see a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “It’s a good song.”

“Wait, wait. Are you _romancing_ me?” The endless tirade of love songs is starting to make a lot more sense.

“Shut up.” Mitch’s ears are turning red, his eyes carefully fixated on the road ahead. It’s sweet, really-- flattering for sure, but Naz doesn’t think he’s imagining the way it makes him feel light inside.

“Aww,” He croons, teasing, but when the chorus comes on, he sings along. Mitch’s shoulders relax, and he spares Naz a quick, shy smile before carefully changing lanes.

(Naz ignores the apprehension in his gut.)

\--

Publically, no one really knows what to think. It’s a chemistry from practically nowhere more than halfway through the season. Their slumps are distant history, replaced by consistent goals at least every other game. Some call them Bab’s secret weapon, like the Leafs have been holding out for the end of the season, and it’s clear that Mitch _loves_ it.

Mitch is still his cheery self in the interviews, lives for the attention -- even more so when he’s high off the glory of propelling the team to a win.

“It’s great, you know, being on his line. He’s really talented.” Mitch laughs, teeth gleaming, and a few of the reporters chuckle. “Can’t say he is in anything else, but. He is with hockey.”

The reporters hound Naz afterwards, trying to get a good back-and-forth banter for their articles, and Mitch pulls faces from behind them that make it hard for him to keep a straight face. “Yeah, I mean, absolutely. Mitchy’s crazy skilled, has all these brilliant ideas to bring to the table.”

“He’s made reference to your lack of skills in other areas, what do you have to say to that?” The woman to his left prompts, and Mitch laughs silently.

“I think I’d remind him who fed him his last three goals. It’s not too bad to get shown up by him, though.” Naz says, unable to keep his tone from sounding amused. “Whatever keeps ‘m coming.” He adds, and Mitch chokes on his own spit, making a fool of himself.

\--

“Sooo, are we together or what?” Mitch asks one night, and Naz rolls his eyes from below him where he’s pressing a thigh between Mitch’s legs for him to lazily grind against.

“No, I mostly just see you as a friend.” Naz says drily, spreading his legs wider to draw attention to his erection. Mitch reaches a hand down to stroke him, unprompted.

“I mean like, romance and stuff. Boyfriends.” He continues, ignoring the sarcasm.

“Like holding hands?” Naz wraps his fingers around Mitch’s, directing the handjob, and Mitch shudders at the brush over his knuckles.

“Well. That makes it sound stupid.” Mitch mutters, and Naz kisses him.

“I could get behind it. This is a bit earlier than the third date, though.” Naz says, shifting like he’s going to move away, and Mitch pins his hips to the bed, pressing him down into the mattress. He can’t hold back his groan, and Mitch snickers.

“That’s okay, I won’t tell anyone you’re easy for me.”

\--

Not much changes, after that. There’s a lot more intimacy, if it can even be called that. (The sex is a given.) Naz is still on shaky ground with the guys, wants to give them as little fodder as possible to demonize him, so with regards to PDA? They don’t want to see that shit, and Naz is fine with that arrangement. He doesn’t feel comfortable showing them that, either.

Naz knows what it would come down to, if people picked sides. He’s the one in the compromising position, here, and besides -- everyone loves Mitch.

It’s easier if he just doesn’t give them the chance.

\--

He can’t escape their judgement, though, and Naz can’t help but internalize it, start wondering how much of it is real. The whole situation from afar seems like it could be a twisted brand of Stockholm syndrome, like Mitch is only happy because he has to be. Like it’s wrong to assume that Mitch is okay with everything, no matter what he says when Naz brings it up.

“There’s no way they let us keep the bond after this season.”

Mitch frowns. “You think?” He sounds skeptical, but he’s not stupid. He knows Naz is right.

“It’s just-- how do we know that it’s not the bond? What if it all goes away, after-- like it was messing with our minds?”

“Hey,” Mitch says softly, and Naz looks at him. He’s steady, calm. “I want this. I’m happy-- we’re happy.”

(It’s enough to quell Naz for now, but maybe the other guys have a point.)

\--

Naz still won’t fuck him, even though Mitch has offered. (Even though he wants to, even though everyone believes it’s already happened.) That’s one thing Naz won’t let get clouded up in this.

“You need to--” Naz’s breath hitches, “You need to get this whole marking thing under control. Most people don’t find it hot.”

“But you do.” Mitch says, taking a break from sucking bruises into the insides of Naz’s thighs. Naz’s isn’t shuddering, but it’s a near thing.

 _It won’t be me forever_ , Naz wants to say, _How do we know it’s real_ , but he doesn’t want to start another fight about it. It’s clear that Mitch knows what he’s thinking, though, because he nips at Naz’s hip before turning his attention to his neglected dick. As relationship counseling goes, frequent sex isn’t a bad method of coping.

\--

There’s something in the steadfast certainty, but it’s all so twisted up in glory and success and his own ambition that Naz can’t trust himself. Can’t even trust Mitch, either-- he has to keep reminding himself. That’s the worst part of it all.

Naz doesn’t consider himself particularly religious, but if he finds himself looking for a sign, something to prove he’s not going crazy with the bond? That’s only for himself to know.

\--

Distancing himself, intentional or not, doesn’t work. Naz had hoped it’d get better, improve with time, but the withdrawal from 26 hours and change is still too much to handle, enough to drive Naz to show up unannounced in the middle of the night. Mitch answers the door before he can even knock, wide-eyed and frantic, and it’s not ‘til Naz has him in his arms that he realizes they’re both shaking.

“Oh, thank God.” Mitch breathes, finally able to relax after hours of tension. “Thank God.”

“Mitch?” Someone calls from the other room, and Mitch doesn’t move from where he stands, body pushed up against Naz’s in the entryway.

“It was so bad, couldn’t think of anything else. Needed you. Couldn’t concentrate, not even with Auston over.” Mitch whispers, pushing closer. He’s sweating, Naz realizes, and his skin feels clammy.

“ _Christ_.” Auston swears, standing at the end of the hall, still holding an Xbox controller. “I knew there was something wrong with you. It’s the bond, isn’t it.”

Naz can’t find any words to respond. It doesn’t end up mattering, because Auston starts talking again, faster.

“Who am I kidding, of course it is. We need to get the bond specialist here so we can break it--”

“You _can’t_.” Mitch whirls around, horrified. “Auston, Matty, you _can’t_.”

“You’re both suffering, it’s not healthy, _look_ at you--” Auston’s confused, incredulous, but Mitch is firm, sharp in the way he cuts him off again.

“If you’re my friend at all, you’ll just leave it _alone_.”

Auston leaves.

\--

They’re making the playoffs, that’s certain. But they’re racking up points, gaining on Boston and Tampa, and people are finally taking notice. They’ve been good, but they’ve never seemed _dangerous_ until now.

It’s gone unspoken in the locker room, but everyone knows who’s been driving the change, no matter how many reservations they have about the bond. They can’t afford to mess with it.

\--

Their series against Tampa doesn’t feel real. Naz keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop, too experienced to take the consistent winning in stride, but it never happens.

Mitch is going head to head with Nikita Kucherov, and he’s holding his own. Hell, he’s winning at some points-- their first game at home, Mitch gets a breakaway, and he’s so fast that Vasilevskiy barely has the opportunity to move before he’s burying it in the back of the net, opening the scoring for the series.

“ _Yes!_ ” Mitch roars, spinning around to find Naz, and they slam into the boards together. Mitch is laughing, eyes joyous. He looks beautiful like this, Naz realizes, drenched in the lights and sounds of the ACC’s celebrations. He’s beautiful.

It’s perfect, even when they’re losing, when Mitch settles into a single-minded focus. On the ice, he’s out for blood-- all cruel beauty and devastatingly clever passes.

Now that he’s seen it, he can’t stop. It’s distracting, the way Naz’s chest tightens whenever he catches himself staring a beat too long. It’s love-- Naz doesn’t think he can fake that.

\--

Naz doesn’t wait to tell him, doesn’t sugarcoat it.

“It feels like I’m in love with you.” It burns him, hurts in the way he can’t say for sure, but Mitch’s eyes widen in understanding.

“Yes, that’s exactly-- _Yes_ ,” He breathes, leaning in to kiss him, and it’s sweeter than anything Naz has ever felt. Logic doesn’t keep the joy from bubbling up inside of him, and Naz can’t stop himself from smiling, pulling away to look at Mitch. He’s happy and flushed. (He’s the best thing Naz has ever seen.)

\--

It’s like they’re running damage control, but it’s clear that it’s too little, too late. Any PDA they show now is unnatural-- it’s not _fake_ , persay, just feels artificial and scripted. Pointless, given that the team don’t believe it.

Auston corners him, one day, and he looks every inch of the captain everyone wants him to be. He sounds just like the As, just like management, everyone older and wiser, and it’s like he’s just parroting opinions, but the anger? That’s all his own.

“Whatever you’re doing to him, grooming him or brainwashing or whatever? You need to cut that out. Everyone might be able to overlook it for the points, but after the playoffs, it’s over.”

\--

Everything feels like a dream, but it all has to end somehow. Two people don’t make a team, and the strain of playing against an offensive powerhouse for the second round in a row takes its toll. They’re out against Boston in 6.

“I really thought we could do it.” Mitch whispers as Naz absently brushes his fingers through his hair. It sits between them, heavy. They both know what’s coming next.

\--

Babs has them break the bond before locker cleanout. Naz knew it was coming, but the rush of panic takes him by surprise, the way he feels like a cornered animal.

“Mike, please--” Naz tries, but it’s for nothing. He’s already on thin ice, can’t afford to make much of a fuss. He’s not _expendable,_ not after this season, but bigger trades have happened.

“Please, don’t make us. I want it, I--” Mitch insists, resisting, and Naz can’t watch this-- follows the trainer into his office.

They’re in separate rooms during the process, and maybe that’s for the best-- it feels like a piece of him has been ripped out. The painkillers they prescribe Naz take the edge off, but there’s a pulsing ache underneath that the drugs can’t cover.

Naz doesn’t see Mitch again til he’s talking to the media. He looks awful-- his eyes are red, and his voice wobbles. It’s easy to play off as frustration at being knocked out of the playoffs after such a close run, but the way the other guys refuse to meet his gaze tells another story. It’s their fault. Naz can’t even muster a sense of vindication, just feels sick.

Mitch nearly collides with him on the way to his car, and it’s all Naz can do to hold his hands out in front of him before Martin grabs him with a shout. Mitch looks wild-eyed, out of his mind.

“You can’t, you can’t touch me, remember?” Naz says, and it’s shaky, because Mitch looks miserable. “That’ll stop the recovery.”

“It _hurts,_ ” Mitch gasps, and Martin looks at the ground. Naz squeezes his eyes shut.

\--

The urge to give up and go to him is too much, gets to be all he can think about. He’s not sleeping.

“Maybe you’re too close?” Mo suggests. (He’s finally talking to him again.)

“Maybe.” Naz says flatly.

It’s probably not a coincidence that he gets invited to vacation with Mo and a few other guys in Florida.

\--

Getting out of Toronto doesn’t help, but time does, and it’s _something_ to fill the days.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Leo says, sympathetic with a hand on his shoulder, and Naz resists the urge to brush it off. “It wasn’t you, man.”

It’s hot and sunny, perfect for relaxing. (Not so perfect for ignoring how he still feels a twinge when he thinks of Mitch.)

Naz’s phone is hooked up to the car speakers a couple weeks in, and he thinks nothing of it when he absently answers a call on the way back from the beach, unable to look at the caller ID, and it ends up being a mistake.

“Hello?” He says, and Mo and Jake quiet down.

“Naz?” It’s Mitch, sounding watery. _Shit._ He’s not supposed to be calling, and Naz can tell why. The absence of the bond feels even more acute, but Naz hasn’t heard his voice in over a month and he _aches_.

“Mitch--” Naz looks for a place to pull over, to take the call privately, but Mitch is already talking in incoherent sentences.

“They said it’d go away if it was fake, you said we’d be able to tell. I still miss you, still wanna be with you-- could come to Florida--”

Naz can’t listen to anymore bargaining, knows emotionally it wouldn’t take much to convince him. “You can’t, baby. I’m sorry.” The endearment slips out, unbidden, and he mentally kicks himself. Mitch makes a pained noise.

“You said, you _promised_.”

Naz finally stops the car, disconnects his phone. “They said it has to be the whole summer, I’m sorry.” He says as he slips out of the front seat to lean against the side.

Mitch sounds smaller through his phone. “We could ditch everyone, rendezvous somewhere?”

Naz huffs out an unhappy laugh. “Go somewhere warm.”

“Like Florida? Sorry.” Mitch sighs. “I kind of get why they told us not to call. This sucks.”

“Yeah.” Naz says, swallowing around a lump in his throat. “I’ll see you in a month, for training camp. It’ll be better then.” _God, I miss you so much,_ he doesn’t say, because it’ll just make it worse.

When he hangs up, he has to take a few moments to gather himself before getting back in the car.

“Naz, we had no idea--” Mo starts, looking pale.

“Save it. It’s already done.” Naz interrupts, stiff, and turns the radio on.

\--

Mitch shows up unannounced at the airport when he gets back, exactly one month later, and Naz is surprised he doesn’t have a big embarrassing sign with him.

“ _Naz!_ ” Mitch shouts when he sees him, and Naz can’t stop the grin that follows, relief washing over him.

“Hey.” Naz says, poking him in the side, testing. Nothing happens. Mitch beams, pulls him into a hug.

They touch, and familiar desperation starts to flow over Naz’s skin, the feeling crystal clear.

 _No, no, not again_ \-- Naz thinks, horrified, but something shifts a second later, like a rough, grinding click into place, and it’s gone, replaced by a distant sense of wondering confusion that mirrors his own.

Mitch makes a soft noise of surprise. His eyes are shining. “I think… I think I can feel you?” He murmurs, and Naz isn’t sure who the rush of pure joy comes from, but he’s definitely feeling it.

Naz buries his face in Mitch’s neck and laughs.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I'd love to hear what you think about this!


End file.
